


Shards of Sorrow

by TheMulletWhisperer



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, F/F, F/M, Horror, Pic Fic(?), Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-03 04:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15811848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMulletWhisperer/pseuds/TheMulletWhisperer
Summary: A dead zone lay to the north of Tamriel, a place from which none return. A group of curious researchers and brave adventurers brave the wastes in search of treasure and of answers.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to be pretty different than what I usually do. 
> 
> Every chapter of this will be prompted by a horror image I find as a sort of exercise in theme incorporation--to put it as pretentiously as possible--unless I come up with an idea I really want to do.
> 
> I'm not sure how many chapters there are going to be but I'll mark the last one. 
> 
> This one is pretty short because it's just the introduction, the others will be much meatier.

Far to the north lay a land, once vibrant and beautiful, a land of frigid winters and warm summers, a land of trade and glory, the birthplace of the Empire as known by so many to this day. 

That land is no longer.

Accounts vary, and nobody knows for certain what happened to that once-glorious land so many years ago. Caravans ceased to run and border towns saw nonexistent foot traffic. At first, the Empire was concerned, sending to the aid of this nation many companies of troops. Then, the Empire was scared as their men seemed to disappear entirely. 

Near the beginning, others were concerned as well,  concerned for friends and family in the region. The disappearances put an end to any goodwill attempt from the other provinces. 

The land once known as Skyrim was a dead zone.

During the 200 years of dreadful silence, the name of this land became distant in the memories of the people of Tamriel, known only to historians and those elves who had lived for as long. The history of the land was censored by the Empire and erased from the consciousness of the future generations. 

And still, despite their attempts, many intrepid adventurers, soldiers, and researchers took an interest in this land, posted warnings be damned. Hundreds had died and yet they deigned to throw themselves at the mystery further, determined to restore the glory they’d read of .

A Nordic woman known as Galina Alkaev, queen of some far off land of ice and snow. Intrepid adventurer and hero of her people. 

Valeriya, a brash member of the Cyrodillic Fighter’s Guild, and her lover, Ria. 

A Breton known as Imani Dexereaux, subversive rogue and skilled fighter, and her husband, a Thalmor agent and torturer by the name of Rulindil. 

Liya, a mousy researcher and magus, and Ondolemar, yet another agent of the Thalmor. 

Mattius Richton, Imperial, naturalized citizen of High Rock, and knight protector of the courts of his chosen house. 

All met in the abandoned Imperial town of Bruma, desperate to learn the secrets of this forgotten land. Among the houses buried to the roofs in snow and the barren trees, they found one-another.

And soon, they would all be forgotten as well.


	2. Introduction and Galina Alkaev, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by a specific picture, but unfortunately, I couldn't find the name of the artist so I don't want to share it without the ability to give them credit. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“It’s so damnably cold here.” The Commander whined as he pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders, shuffling through the thick snow toward his wife. “The North is a painful place.” He scanned the town in which they stood, those buildings that once held the homes of the people now barren, the frigid chill of the northern winter whistling through the dens that once held crackling fires and lively conversation.

“Shut your mouth, elf. With luck something will grab you.” Galina snapped at Ondolemar as she rooted through a pile of abandoned belongings, the crest of Bruma among them. Though the mer shot a poisonous glare to the back of her head, he said nothing. Instead, Liya butted in for him.

“Don’t talk to him like that! He’s not used to the cold.” The Breton treated the elf as if he were a pet or a child, despite the fact that she was considerably shorter than him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer, more a symbolic gesture of solitude than anything that would actually help.

“Oh please, elves are so cold on the inside th--” Before Galina could retort, a gauntleted hand on her thick cloak cut her off. 

“Calm yourself, your highness. We will all be on our way soon.” Richton spoke from behind the helmet that covered his face, his voice echoing in an almost surreal way from within. “They are not worth it.” He added, shooting a similar glance to the pair, who looked more dejected by the moment as the crowd grew hostile.

A shuffling caught everyone’s attention and they all simultaneously looked to the source. “Oh don’t mind me, just watching!” The other Breton who’d been notably quiet spoke from her perch on the arm of the statue of the Hero of Kvatch, her legs dangling from the forearm and her elbow resting on its head. “Dragon!” She called back toward the castle, bringing from behind the walls of the portcullis a black-clad figure. The other Thalmor of the group and the target of concentrated hate from the two outsiders. 

“I have found something in the castle!” He shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the thunderous winds. “Come help me sort it through, Breton!” He disappeared behind the wall once again as Imani descended the statue. 

“Stop!” Galina stood suddenly, clutching a guardsman’s helmet in her hand that bore the crest of Bruma. “Do not let that elf into the hall or I will cut you all down!” A heavy chill seemed to descend over the town as the queen’s temper flared, her free hand on the large blade that hung from her back. Everyone seemed to freeze, the tension in the air palpable as she advanced on the Breton. 

Several seconds passed as the group waited for something to happen before Imani put her hands up, “Okay, okay, fuck, don’t freak out, I’ll let you look around!” She turned back and raised her voice once again. “Rulindil! Queen Bitchy out here doesn’t want us going in, I’m pretty sure I’ll have to kill her if you don’t come out!”

Once again the Thalmor stepped into view, this time trudging across the knee-high snowbank, the wind whipping at his cloak. Galina released her blade as she laid eyes on the man, gesturing to Richton. “Good, you’re smart! Don’t follow us!” She began to the steps that had been blanketed in snow, the Imperial following close behind her. The both of them shot a nasty look to the Thalmor as they passed one another. 

*******************************************

**Galina, Part One**

*******************************************

The doors of the castle cracked and shrieked as they scraped against the frozen stone of the foyer. A smell of must washed over the two humans as they stepped upon the snow-fringed carpets, the knight shutting the door behind him with a soft thud against the frame. 

The inside of the castle was scarcely better than the outside, if slightly better preserved. The torches that adorned the sconces of the walls had long since burned through their pitch, leaving scorch marks on the mossy stone. Were it not for the strands of silvery light that filtered through the sheets of snow on the reinforced windows, the citadel would be impenetrably dark.

“Be wary of your step, your highness.” Richton spoke in a soft voice, placing his hand on Galina’s shoulder as he looked around, almost as if he were worried that his words would awaken something. 

“And you as well, Mattius. This place must hold clues, help me search, we’ll meet back in the throne room.” Galina touched his hand for a moment and descended the steps, setting off what appeared to be a cascade of scuttling from the various creatures that had laid previously undisturbed. 

Set on edge by the sounds, Galina continued on to the throne chamber while Mattius took the divergent route into what looked to be signposted as the prison.

There seemed to be little that remained of this castle, the inhabitants of the town having packed up and left a time ago. Still, there were always nooks and crannies that eluded prying eyes. 

Galina stepped through the cobweb-filled antechamber and into the throne room, pitching her gaze across the massive arched ceilings and the elaborate stairways lined with elegant displays. The room was bathed in a soft, orange glow, illuminating the dusty, decaying throne in the middle of the room which sat upon a moth-eaten carpet. 

_ Wait… the light? _

Galina looked around, trying to pin down the source of the glow, but no flickering flame or frosted window caught her eye. Carefully, she drew her blade from her back and continued up the stairs, toward what appeared to be the source of the light.

Almost immediately, however, she was sidetracked by a glint that caught her eye from beneath a thick sheet of dust upon one of the many display cases. Gently, she placed her uncovered hand on the glass and pushed the dust from the surface, peering in.

The glint seemed to originate from a sort of seal on a scroll that appeared ancient. The Nord leaned her blade against the frame of the case and pulled her hand back, effortlessly shattering the glass and kicking up the rest of the dust into her face. As she made for the scroll, however, it appeared to crumble into the very dust that had coated the case.

“What the fuck?” She whispered to herself, eyes wide as she raked her fingers through the powder that lay where the scroll once was. 

All at once, something clattered behind her and she whipped around, clutching her broadsword tightly. Nothing seemed to be there, though a set of fresh footprints led back through the antechamber and into the foyer. 

“Show yourself!” Galina shouted, her legs locking in the uncharacteristic fear that spread through her chest like a flame of static. Ever so carefully, she descended the stairs, kicking through the footprints as she rounded the corner, her knuckles turning white against the grip of her blade. 

Light shone in through the crack of the castle’s doors, cleaving through the darkness in a single strip and illuminating some heinous thing. A man, dressed head to toe in a silver armor, a pristine blade hung on his hip. However, as her eyes tracked up his body, they landed upon that which should have been his head. Instead, atop his neck stood a bleached bird’s skull, the tip of the beak black with what appeared to be soot. 

The creature hardly moved as Galina stood, horrified, at the sight of the thing. As she worked up the courage to approach, it raised its head with a series of sickening cracks and opened its beak.

_ “Chirp.” _

It spoke in the voice of a thousand men and women at once, a haunting whisper of a word that sent terror to every corner of the queen’s body. As her instincts kicked in, she flung open the uncharacteristically light doors of the castle and slammed them behind her.

As she took a deep breath and regained her bearings, she took a step back, realizing that Bruma had become somehow far warmer in the minutes she’d spent within. She turned on her heel and surveyed her surroundings, the sickly green light that filtered through the clouds catching the scummy waters of the swamp before her, upon which stood the remains of a town.

She turned back to the castle only to find herself faced with some sort of longhouse, the doorway of which had collapsed long ago.

“What… the fuck?” She whispered as the native insects buzzed in her ear. She took several steps back and took in a wider view of the building that looked to have been entirely obliterated. She knew without a doubt that something was wrong now and she spun on her heel once again, backing along the road and surveying the town, all the while the demonic voice of the bird ringing in her ears.

_ “Chirp.” _


	3. Imani and Rulindil Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I couldn't find the artist source so I don't want to post the work that inspired this here. I once again violate my promises. Damn me.

“Well, I guess they aren’t coming back.” Imani hopped down from her perch on the statue’s arm that she’d taken once again, her lithe form a standout from the snowy ruins of the city and her footsteps crunching in the white powder. “Come on Dragon, Liya and Dolly already left, we should probably get going too.”

Rulindil looked regretfully up at the bastion of the palace, drawing his lips into a thin line and running a hand through his tightly-bound hair. “Hmph. I suppose you’re right, aren’t you? Very well, where are we going?” He approached his wife and peered at the map they’d pulled from the chapel. 

“Well, here it says there’s a town called… something. H… Can you read this?” She pointed out one of the words that had been mostly worn away with time, hoping Rulindil’s superior eyes could pick out what it was that the word said. 

“Hel? Hell.” He stated confidently, seeing little issue with his half-assed attempt at reading it. “We know where the town is, lets--” He paused as Imani placed a finger over his lips, shaking her head and continuing to look the map over. 

“Shut up. It’s not hell. Hel… H…” She folded the map up and put it back in her bag, shaking her head and rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Hold on, I need to find a new map.”

“Breton, you don’t…” Rulindil sighed heavily and grabbed her arm as she passed, pulling him back in front of her. “You don’t need another map, let’s go figure out the name of the town at the town. We could even” he ran his finger across the side of her face, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “show the town what life looks like.” 

Imani shuddered and took a deep breath, composing herself and nodding. “Okay.” She spoke hoarsely, tugging on his arm. “C’mon.”

-/-

The transition from the arctic cold of the winter behind them and the temperate forests was a sudden one as their feet began to crunch upon the gravel of the road and a thick fog descended, accompanied by a light drizzle that pattered on the hoods of the hoods of the couple. As strange noises played tricks on their ears from somewhere deep beyond the barren trees the abandoned town of Bruma seemed far more hospitable. 

Through the mist emerged a dilapidated town, its walls crumbling under their own weight and the heavy doors having long since rotted away, the remnants hanging forlornly from their hinges that still clung to the worn stone. 

“Here it is.” Rulindil brushed away a coat of dirt and moss from the streetpost, running his gloved fingers over the wood’s engraving. “Helgen.” He whispered, just quiet enough for the Breton who was peering over his shoulder to hear. 

“Helgen.” She repeated, nodding solemnly and falling back to the flat of her feet. “I guess this is hell… g-generally?” She  cringed right alongside the Altmer at the failed pun as the two continued on down the path.

As they passed through the threshold of the gates they were met with a stench of rot--not that of humans, but that of wood. The buildings that lined the streets seemed to be rotting away, yet they were still standing, never losing their form or shape. 

_ “Caw!”  _

A crow perched on Rulindil’s shoulder and screeched right into his ear, pulling a stifled scream from his chest as he waved the bird off. And yet, it didn’t leave. “Get off, you..” He reached up to grab it but found it flew away before he could. “There we are.” He sighed and straightened his robes, turning his smirking wife forward as they continued. 

The two rounded a corner and nearly plowed into some sort of fixture in the middle of the road. They stepped back to observe, the Altmer crossing his arms and looking the thing over. 

It seemed that someone--though it wasn’t clear who--had been crucified in the center of the road, their dessicated, eyeless corpse slouched against the loose ropes that held in place its wrists and feet. “Someone got unlucky.” Imani stated matter-of-factly, staring at the body. 

“You think so?” Rulindil deadpanned back to her, rounding the cross and continuing deeper into the town.

In the center was a headsman’s block upon which lay an Imperial flag of the Red Diamond, only barely covering the nook of the stone. Rulindil bent down and pulled back the flag. 

“By Auri-El!” He shouted, stumbling back as he stared at the fresh head that lay beneath. A head that followed him with its eyes, moving as if it were still attached to a neck as it writhed and turned. 

_ “Hungry. Hun--gry.”  _ It spoke in a hoarse whisper that seemed to speak directly into both of his ears.  _ “Feed me.”  _ It began gnashing its teeth--a deafening sound. The Altmer felt a hand on his shoulder and he whirled around, swinging his fist and making contact with something hard. The body fell to the floor and he peered down at it, barely able to think through the noises. 

“Oh no. No no no.” He shouted, clutching his ears as he stared at Imani lying on the ground, blood pouring from her nose. “Leave me!” He screamed, falling to his knees and shaking his head violently. 

_ “Feed me!” _


End file.
